


Fatale

by princesagili



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basically women helping each other cope with trauma, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, subtle misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15575121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesagili/pseuds/princesagili
Summary: So Fatale she became, hard and cold as steel, her moves perfect as she dances, her glare challenging everyone who dares to mock her. And then, she goes back home. And where there was strength once, there is now a softness that she didn’t know she would be able to feel again.





	Fatale

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commissions for tumblr user @symspiderbytes! thank you!
> 
> Btw if you want a commission, or just chat, hit me up at @lesbiannanu on tumblr

Arriving home is like finally finding safety and solace after a day full of imminent danger.

Amélie takes out her shoes, and leaves the keys on the drawer they have at the entrance of their apartment, carefully placing them in the plate that Satya bought specifically for it, after three times of Olivia misplacing them in a week. The thought makes her sigh.

To be fair, Olivia is terrible at basically everything that doesn’t involve her job. She loves to laze around the house, falling asleep in every corner because her job, that makes her pull an all-nighter every now and then. What she does? Something to do with codes, she doesn’t really give anyone much of an explanation, and honestly, Amélie doesn’t really want to know. If Olivia says it’s not safe, it’s because it isn’t, and she has had a big enough amount of unsafety in her life.

Satya, on the other hand, is an early bird, always up with the Sun, as if light gave her life. She is an architect, and her work practically shapes everything about her. She is structured, mathematical, and has an impeccable taste about interior design. However, Amélie realises, she finds in Satya’s eyes something that she has been able to recognize in other people since her husband died. Even if Satya’s loneliness seems to die out a little when Olivia and her are around.

Amélie understands, both of them. Being tired, being scared, being lonely. As she dances in the middle of the stage, always alone, nobody wanting to accompany her, she feels the stares of hundreds. Tearing her down, commenting about her shape, her private life, her late husband.

She can and will endure whatever they say about her, however they treat her, but not Gérard. Gérard didn’t die so his name was tarnished like that.

She was put under suspicion because of his death, years ago. She unknowingly helped his murderers, but the press loves to attack victims with false information, and juicy headlines. Gérard was killed because of political reasons, nothing more, and nothing less. That’s what she reminds herself when she feels guilty about how she was the one opening the door for his murderers, serving them wine and appetizers until her husband got back.

She doesn’t want to think about the mess that happened that night.

They called her a black widow. In Paris, they nicknamed her Fatale, mockingly, as a reminder to her and every woman living through something similar. People are willing to blame women even for their trauma.

So Fatale she became, hard and cold as steel, her moves perfect as she dances, her glare challenging everyone who dares to mock her. And then, she goes back home. And where there was strength once, there is now a softness that she didn’t know she would be able to feel again.

She is crying before she can do anything about it, and walks to the living room with bare feet, and her makeup already a mess.

She just wanted to dance, she still just wants to dance, then why…

Before she can dwell about it, she feels Olivia’s hands on her shoulders, sweetly guiding her towards the couch, Satya already walking towards the kitchen to prepare her the milk tea with berries she likes so much.

She doesn’t deserve them. She really doesn’t, as cold as she was when they started living together, as usual as her breakdowns are. But as always, Olivia reminds her.

“You do the same when it happens to us. Let us take care of you today, okay?”

And it is true. 

Olivia’s sleeping schedule isn’t just screwed over because of her job, but because her troubles, that keep her up even when she really needs to rest a little. Too much information inside of her head, her past life working for a gang in her hometown to make money and help her neighbours… the only reason they haven’t caught her is because she fled to Europe and hid herself behind dozens of codenames.

Satya used to work for a shady company, that speculated with the land and evicted poor people to make money with their property, with the blessing of the government, because no matter how much they claim to care, poor people are not as beautiful as luxury apartments. She wakes up shaking sometimes, phantom pain in her arm that is no more, and no amount of warm beverages can make guilt go away.

They all have something awful to deal with. Something that has warped the way they see the world, the way they interact with others.

It was Amélie’s therapist who suggested sharing an apartment with other people. She could have afforded to live on her own, or even to keep living in her family’s château, but loneliness couldn’t be filled with money.

At first, they all lived their own lives, slept in separate rooms, and didn’t really share much time together. She soon learnt that Satya loves dancing, and they both started practising to the rhythm of their favourite songs. Olivia’s dancing skills were not exactly polished, but she joined soon enough. They became friends, and at some point, they ended up sharing the same bed. Sharing time and care, loving and being loved was something they all craved or missed.

Satya’s smile has become softer with time, she thinks as she hands her a cup of tea. Olivia’s whole interactions have become more genuine, warmer and less sharp. She hands Amélie a handkerchief, and Amélie thanks her in a hoarse voice. They don’t have to ask what happened, because they already know.

“You know, we can order one of those pizzas you adore. The one that has like seven hundred different types of cheese.”

Amélie laughs, and Olivia grants her a warm and toothy smile.

“You know I’m lactose intolerant, Oli.” Satya reminds her, and Olivia touches her lower lip with her finger, thinking.

“Amélie and I can eat pizza, and I’ll buy your favourite quiche from the bakery. Is that okay?”

“I’ll accept it.” Satya says, and Amélie leaves the cup on the table, reaching out to hug them both.

They become a mess of a hug, in which everyone is trying to hug everyone, but not much can be done with who arms, so it’s kind of chaotic. Having only a mouth is too little to kiss them both as much as Amélie would have liked.

It’s not perfect, what they have. But she wouldn’t change it for anything.

“Now be honest, Oli. you wanted to eat pizza tonight, too.” Satya says, half laughing.

Olivia sticks out her tongue, and Amélie is already snorting again.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are neat, but reviews melt my heart! I hope you enjoyed it.


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